30 



The Gambler, on a spade 



His all on earth will stake, Sirs ; 



Tlie Drunkard is a sieve, 



The Libertine 's a rake, Sirs : 



May he who — lilie a blight — 



The Maiden's peace has broke, Sirs, 



A lifniging-Ga.rden see. 



And feel the Art-lo-choke , Sirs. 



T!he pretty Gentleman, 

 So lady-like and lazy, 

 Who goes to Mari-gold, 

 And lisps out " lauk a daisey,^' 

 Of Navarino stock — 

 A nice corsetted scion, 

 Among the Garden stuff. 

 He 's dubbed a Dande-lion. 



The Spendthrift ends with slugs, 



And " Verbum-sat" 's a hint, Sirs — 



The Miser is a Snail, 



That starves upon the Mint, Sirs : 



You may Old Bachelors 



In Elder-hernes nab. Sirs, 



Old Maids they say are Medlars 



Grafted on the Crab, Sirs. 



We '11 toast the kitchen garden, 

 The dishes all and each. Sirs, 

 It would our taste un-pair. 

 Their goodness to im-peach. Sirs : 

 And may we never want 

 The means such limbs to lop, Sirs, 

 And always have good grounds. 

 To gather a full Crop, Sirs. 



My lines I must re-trench, 

 They better things impede, Sirs, 

 And as my song 's sow, sow. 

 Perhaps you may see seed. Sirs ; 

 I 'm certain, with your leaves. 

 If doggrels thus should trick us 

 Out of our good wine, — 

 Each would be Hortus siccus. 



Then may Life's evening sun, 

 In setting be serene, Sirs ; 

 Time well employed — in Age 

 Will make us evergreen, Sirs ; 

 And when the pruning -knife — 

 From feather, or from cot-bed — 

 Transplants us to the soil, 

 May we escape a Hot-bed. 



